Where the Wolfsbane Blooms
by Foxieglove
Summary: A young Scorpius Malfoy sets out for the Forbidden Forest to help Professor Longbottom repair the damage done to the school garden and finds more than he bargained for awaiting him in the woods.


The woods ahead were deep and cool and mysterious, full of treasure. Also, they were Forbidden. _It figured_, the pale boy thought to himself. He sighed and crossed his arms, sending the basket full of vials and wax paper to rustling. He was about to get into a lot of trouble - if he got caught. No respectable Slytherin would _ever _get caught sneaking.

Father had once said, proudly, that sneaking was in his blood. (Mother had of course brought up the many detentions he'd served for his so-called 'sneaking' powers while Father had sputtered in bemused denial.)

Behind him he heard the sound of hammer on wood as stakes were driven into the ground. A fence was being erected around Professor Longbottom's garden, as it had been half-decimated last night by a - well, by a _something. _The mugwort and vervain were gone, not even seeds left in the trampled dirt to start over with. Part of the yarrow had survived, but what remained looked rather sorry to have managed.

Professor Longbottom had starter plants growing in the greenhouse to replace the asafetida and betony - nevertheless it had been devastating to watch the man scratching in the dirt like a hen after lost seeds. Even if he did find seeds to plant now, the plants wouldn't be ready for harvest whenever the Potions class needed them. Naturally, Hogwarts had plenty of the crushed and dried variety in store, but when a potion called for fresh leaves . . .

The boy distractedly brushed his white-blonde hair out of his eyes, staring at the Forest path. It would be just like a field trip, he told himself. He'd test his Herbology skills out in the woods. There was nothing to fear in the Forest while it was daylight, Forbidden or no.

He could imagine the delight on Professor Longbottom's kindly face when he brought back the specimens - it was only proper to thank him anyhow. The man had been fair and treated him like everyone else, despite his family name.

Scorpius set his mouth in a determined line, gripped the basket, and walked forward.

--

_Meat._

_Meat, sinew, pulsing hot blood _- of the prey her kind craved above all others - had entered the Forest. She could smell it and it fanned the fire in her gut, giving her cause to rise from where she lay panting in the shade of a tree. She raised her face and sniffed once, then again deeply - relishing the scent.

It was a small morsel, but tender. She would eat her fill and the rest would keep warm and steaming in her belly, until she regurgitated it for the pups.

She licked her muzzle and loped off toward it, hungry and terrible and patient. Even as she yearned to taste prey herself, her mind went to her Children, to her Father. The pack would wish to hunt with her, but first, she needed to herd the prey further in. There was no sense in wasting a good lesson for the pups.

--

Scorpius had found vervain in short order, and pulled it carefully, wrapping wax paper around the roots and packing soil into the folds of paper to keep it from drying before he returned. His hair kept getting in his face and he blew it away carefully. His Mother had wanted to cut it short before letting him go to school, but his Father had been adamant about letting him grow it out as long as he wanted it. _After all_, his Father had said, somewhat bitterly. _He won't have it forever._

Now he was wishing he'd listened to his Mother, especially since his hair wasn't yet long enough to pull back out of the way. It tickled his nose or stuck to the sweat on his forehead. Scorpius wiped his face, unintentionally smearing dirt on his cheek and picked up his basket. When he turned, he got the fright of his life.

Yellow eyes peered at him in interest, too much interest, and the gray she-wolf loped forward, ears pricked. She was curious, Scorpius tried to tell himself. Just curious. Maybe talking would scare her off.

"I have no meat," he tried and lightly rattled his basket. "Just some plants. Nothing that would interest you."

The wolf sniffed at the basket and looked straight at him. Scorpius could feel her eyes on his jugular. Could she see his pulse was up? He swallowed uneasily, licked his lips. "I don't have anything for you," he tried again.

She grinned, and it stretched to her ears the way no wolf grin should. Scorpius stumbled back, terrified. She _was_ one of them. Father had told him about werewolves - he had told him . . . What had he told him?

Scorpius wanted to run away as fast as he could, run screaming for Professor Longbottom, for his Father, for any name he could think of. He trembled with panic and held his ground because he knew that if it was one thing you never did with a werewolf around . . .

_"Do not run. Do not ever run and do not show fear if you can help it. Running sets off their animalistic nature - it makes them run after you. It makes them hunt. Just walk. Don't lose your head and remember always, you're a wizard," Father had said, looking at him with calm grey eyes. In admiration, Scorpius had wondered how many werewolves his father had never run from. _

Right. He _was_ a wizard. Scorpius pulled the ash wand from his robe and pointed it threateningly. The werewolf growled, but she backed away, tail lowered and ears flattened. No more grin, much to Scorpius' relief. He could almost think he'd imagined it, but that would be dangerous too.

The standoff lasted for two minutes. Then the she-wolf sniffed the ground where he'd been standing, regarded him coolly and trotted off to the far trees. She'd be stalking him now, waiting to scare him into running again. He wondered how it was she was in her shape without the moon and remembered . . .

_"The full moon is when werewolves have to change. They have no choice on these nights. However, it doesn't mean they can't change when there's no moon. The ones who accept their nature can be bloodthirsty brutes whenever they want."_

_"How are you sure, Father?"_

_". . . I used to know one." Then, haltingly, Father had told him about Greyback. _

Scorpius kept walking, attempting to soothe his agitation. He wasn't far from the school. He had vervain - he could go back right now. Scorpius turned and the wolf was on the path behind him, sniffing casually. She rubbed her shoulder against a tree, marking it, and gazed at him. Not that way.

Frustrated, he turned and moved on. Scorpius took a deep breath and saw - just beyond a patch of strange grass - some rue. He stepped over to it and pulled a plant out as carefully as he could what with his hands shaking. Scorpius looked over his shoulder five times before the plant made it to the paper cone and the soil barely made it into the folds. He put the specimen back in the basket and stood up, trying for a path that was at least more parallel to the school.

When he stood up, the world spun dizzily, he wasn't sure which direction was left or right. Scorpius stood before walking out of the circle of grass and looked to what he thought was north. He shook his head to try to clear it, and behind him, the werewolf howled. Hurriedly picking a direction, Scorpius set forth again - making sure to walk. When he glanced over his shoulder, she was once again out of sight.

Scorpius went to his left, traveling in as straight a line as he could. The path was a little wider here and perhaps it was a well-traveled one. Perhaps it would lead him back to the school. When the wolf didn't come to nip at his heels and dissuade him, he wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or to worry even further.

He heard running water somewhere and felt thirsty, but had visions of the great beast choosing that as her opportunity the moment he bent to drink. Scorpius shook his head. If it got unbearable, he'd put a stone in his mouth and suck on that. He wasn't taking any risks - it had been stupid to come into the Forest he realized. Even during the day there were dangers.

And he was still disoriented. Had fear done that? Had he stepped on faerie sod? Scorpius' mind went back to the strange grass he'd stepped in to get the rue and almost swore aloud. Things were difficult enough - he didn't need the confusing powers of faerie sod added into it. He had to be out of here by sundown and it was high noon.

Scorpius had nothing else to do but walk. He could not stop to drink and he could not sit or stand still - as the teachers had advised should he ever become lost. He was sure that advice would have been sound if it were not for the werewolf on his trail.

He heard her howl again and this time, to his horror, her call was answered in chorus. Scorpius was terrified but he couldn't afford to lose his head. Out of breath from the effort of not running, he covered for it by kneeling in a patch of mugwort and gathered it calmly, forcing his hands not to shake this time. Nothing approached him. Taking several deep breaths, he listened. There was the crack of leaves underfoot from far off to the left. Either a deer or the she-wolf's friends had found her. Scorpius finished up and started to stand. He paused, seeing something else at the edge of the meadow.

The plant was handsome and tall, bearing racemes of purple flowers. One petal on each flower - the _galea_ - formed a cylindrical helmet. Scorpius recognized it at once and plucked it. Aconitum, he recalled, studying the bloom. Otherwise known as Monkshood . . . _Wolfsbane. _

It might buy him time. Scorpius stood up and held the flower to his chest. He saw the wolves afar, sniffing the air and huffing. They looked at him skittishly - no longer sleek hunters - and some even avoided eye contact. All because of the herb he now held. Foolish notions to stay by the plant and wait for someone to come find him flitted through his head, but he knew Father would only shake his own at the idea. If it was suicide to run from werewolves, it would be worse to sit and wait for them to grow hungrier. Then he'd die, herb or no.

He kept on, no longer sure where he was going. The thrice-damned enchanted sod had destroyed any chance of him recovering his bearings. It felt like it had been hours and though he heard absolutely nothing, Scorpius knew the pack was still keeping pace with him. He caught glimpses of them through the trees, though they were not pursuing as aggressively as before.

Just to be safe, he once more pulled out the wand of ash and unicorn horn, keeping it at the ready. He wondered if he could find a tree to climb. The ones he looked at desperately now had no helpful limbs or footholds. They were massive trunks, going straight into the air like columns of black stone. Scorpius walked faster, unable to help himself. The plant would protect him for a bit longer perhaps, but he had to get his bearings first. With one free hand he put the monkshood into the basket before he could further crush the petals in his anxiety.

As soon as he'd passed the unhelpful trees, a sight made him stop and look again. Desperation was playing a cruel trick on him, he thought as he took in the cottage. It was clean and orderly - and around it was a fence made from a hard material. Not wood. Scorpius, in wonder, walked toward it and put his hand on the gate latch. It swung inward, inviting. He hesitated.

"Hello?" He called out. "I'm . . . I'm a student at Hogwarts and I need shelter! Please!" Was anyone home.

A snarl behind him startled him and the she-wolf was advancing, jaws snapping at his cloak. Scorpius yelped and stumbled away from her, falling into the yard of whoever owned the house. He kicked at the fence gate which protested with a screech and snapped its latch shut. Face pulled back in a hideous grimace, one of the werewolves made as if to jump over and was repelled instantly in a flash of blue light. It squealed in pain and scrabbled to put distance between itself and the fence. The others backed up warily, smart enough not to repeat the mistake.

"Well, bless my dark heartstrings," said a voice, heavy with Slavic accent, directly behind Scorpius. He spun around, heart in his throat. An old witch stood there, eyes bright as flint. A few whiskers were in her chin, but they were clean compared to the strange objects tangled into her long white hair. Scorpius could swear he saw a birds nest, with an actual bird's egg in it "If isn't most darling little thing traipsing through the woods," She said, as if there were not five or six werewolves snarling just outside her gate. "What your name, child?"

"S-Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy, mad' am," he croaked, then licked his lips. He was still terribly thirsty. Manners came first, however, when dealing with unrecognizable witches or wizards. His father had taken great pains to teach him that. "I thank you for any hospitality or shelter you can grant me."

"Ah, such _polite_ little gosling," The witch crooned, sucking on a tooth. Scorpius tried not to stare. All her teeth were gray, as if made of iron. "No such manner-minding little girls or boys come my way very often. Come with, come with. Can't allow company you've been keeping inside yard, but I'm sure they'll wait." She chortled to herself darkly and Scorpius, although full of misgivings, followed.

The woman's eyes roamed to the basket on his arm once they at the well at the west side of the house, and alighted there several times as she scooped water from the bucket and handed Scorpius the ladle. The boy thanked her and took the offered drink. Never had water tasted so cool or good and he nearly sobbed with the relief of it. But tears had no place here, not if he wanted to leave it alive. He didn't need his Father's voice to tell him that.

"From Hogwarts, eh, my young master of the woods?" she asked, when he'd drunk two or three cupfuls. "A goodly way, that is. May not make it back before nightfall."

"I wouldn't have gotten lost, Grandmother," Scorpius said carefully, using the old polite term for elderly witches. "But I stepped in faerie turf and got turned about. I was afraid of the werewolf and kept moving. Now her pack has come to help."

"Afraid of that old besom? Ha! Is Father Wolf must be fearing. The one with grey down spine and old war-hurt in head. She call him, my duckling, best kiss self _and _wand goodbye." Grandmother cackled then, showing all her teeth and Scorpius did not recoil, even though he understood she had possibly made a lewd comment. She wiped the mirth from her eyes and smiled at him, almost kindly. "You are good boy, Scorpius Malfoy. We shall do what can about unexpected comrades and in return, you help around house. Old woman living alone can only do so much, eh?"

"Yes, Grandmother," Scorpius said, without hesitation. He hadn't expected she'd want something, but he hadn't ruled out the possibility. Grandmother was still all smiles when she handed him a bucket of what looked like chicken feed.

"Sew this on ground at south end of house," she directed, and had to turn him about when he headed to the north end instead. "Still befuddled? Well, nevermind, will wear off in time."

While Grandmother hummed and swept the front path to the gate with a broom of silver birch, heedless of the whines and growls of the frustrated beasts outside of it, Scorpius passed through her garden with the chicken feed. He passed what looked like a giant mortar and grinder caked with dirt and growing ivy and approached the house's back.

There were no chickens _anywhere_. He clucked a few times, throwing the feed and feeling like the worlds biggest git. What would Grandmother do to him if he didn't get her chickens to eat? He ran out of chicken feed by the end of it and set the bucket down with a sigh. Delaying time, Scorpius glanced again at the mortar and was about to touch it when the house creaked loudly and there was the sound of something scratching across the ground.

Scorpius wheeled around to see the house settle into the dirt once more. Three furrows were dug out over the feed, as if a set of talons had raked through it. He could distinctly hear contented munching sounds coming from under the house. Scorpius scuttled around back to what he hoped was the north end and nearly collided with Grandmother.

"Done? Good, inside now," She said, without waiting for an answer. Scorpius watched as the keyhole opened its mouth full of teeth to let the witch stick a key down the throat of it. She turned and the door swung inward. Grandmother beckoned Scorpius to follow and he had to dart sideways to avoid the door trying to slam into him.

"Now, now, none of that!" Grandmother shouted and stamped the floor several times. "He's is guest and has just fed you, you ungrateful little piglet!" The house moaned faintly. Scorpius, eyes resembling round saucers, sat down where Grandmother indicated and put his basket on the table.

"Now dear," she said, and leaned over the basket, hungrily. "I was in the middle of brew when you called me out. Timing is awfully tricky for this one. Flying ointment, see," she explained and Scorpius held back his gasp. Most of those were illegal, but he wasn't daft enough to point that out.

"Not for me. Is for a . . . broomstick. Might say has been losing some of its kick. Jadwiga, says I, is time to get one of newfangled contraptions. Cleansweeps they are called, last I heard?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I _think_ those are still in production . . ." Scorpius said, doubtfully. He smiled, a little more at ease. Broomsticks were more on familiar territory. "You'd be better off with a Starduster, mad' am. Most of those are still under warranty."

"Warr-anty," Jadwiga mouthed, looking mystified and rolling the r's. "Hmm, yes, good. Anyhow!" She clapped her hands loudly, making Scorpius jump. Out of the wall, stone extruded itself and formed into hands. Jadwiga lifted a sack of grain and set it on the counter. Immediately the hands went to work, grinding the grain into flour. Scorpius stared, entranced. "I forget to do earlier, don't pay any attention. Now, look here."

She led Scorpius over to a cauldron bubbling in the middle of the kitchen, over the hot coals of a fire-pit. The chimney gaped over head like a mouth, seeming to suck at the smoke. It made Scorpius' eyes water. He had smelled worse, before and Jadwiga handed him a large spoon. "Stir seven times clockwise, seven times counterclockwise," she instructed.

Scorpius froze for a moment, and then started clockwise. Grandmother clapped her hands. "Good, is good - you have shaken faerie spell. Keep going." She watched him shrewdly, but there was no need. Scorpius followed her instructions well. She appeared to trust him, for she disappeared into the kitchen and brought out ingredient after ingredient, sometimes adding it to the pot and sometimes muttering to herself that she was old and forgetful and had grabbed the wrong thing.

Outside, the sun had gone down - not that Scorpius noticed anything amiss. He was too worried about somehow ruining the potion. His Father's voice again comforted him; he knew what he was doing. Father had taught him what he knew, and Father said that he in turn had been taught by the best.

Jadwiga stood watching for a long time and crossed her arms, then put them akimbo, then ran her hands through her hair - nearly knocking out the bird's egg. "Is a problem. Have forgotten last ingredient," she fretted. She paced, seeming upset and old and puttering - but Scorpius knew better. She had looked at his basket several times. Whatever she needed was in there and if he wanted out, he'd have to give it up.

"Perhaps mugwort?" he asked, nonchalantly. She glanced at him, scowling.

"No." Her face grew dark and her eyes seemed sharper.

"Rue?" he ventured.

Jadwiga snorted and something in her face twitched. She no longer looked like a kindly Grandmother. "Already added rue."

Almost afraid to, Scorpius looked to where she was glancing. Vervain, he could say, because Professor Longbottom could do without it but the other herb he needed - he needed it because it was hope that he'd come out of these woods alive - it had kept the wolves away. But Vervain wasn't what Jadwiga wanted and he could either give her what she wanted or be killed for it. He was sure those stone hands could grind him to dust the way it ground grain to flour. He was almost certain she'd shown him the hands just so he'd realize it.

"Monkshood?" he suggested, voice small.

Her eyes grew sharper, but now she was smiling. "Yes," she said simply. "That will do." She plucked it out of the basket and carried it over to the cauldron, plopping it in. The potion bubbled and turned a light blue shade. Jadwiga took the spoon from him and scooped some into a bowl. "Perfect," she whispered, not talking to him. Scorpius stood away, watching her as she carried the gleaming liquid out to the back yard.

He stayed put, having been told nothing else and waited for what seemed like long minutes. She came back in, smiling still and gazed fondly at him. "You are good boy," she winked at him. "But your comrades are still waiting for you."

Scorpius nodded, not sure whether to lose his temper or to continue being grateful for the water and the respite, however odd it had been. Jadwiga gestured to the door and Scorpius took up his basket, fighting back tears and walking out. This time at least, the door did not try to slam into him.

"Ah, little scorpion," Jadwiga called. He turned, hoping she saw nothing but gratitude on his face. Perhaps there were worse things than being killed by werewolves. She reached into her hair and pulled out several strands of some kind of root and bound it before his eyes swiftly into a kind of collar. She wrapped a white hair around the collar, tying nine knots - one for each root. Then, almost coyly, she handed it to Scorpius. "Will protect you from wolves, until you reach comrades, yes?" She smiled at him and he grinned back, putting it around his neck.

"Thank you, Grandmother."

"Heh, you make young witch feel old. Call me Jadwiga. Or Yaga. It matter not. Little boys if wise not often see me for second time. You have learned lesson about woods, yes?"

"Yes," Scorpius answered, earnestly. Jadwiga shooed him off her doorstep and he walked to the fence which was gleaming red in the dying sunset. The posts looked like femur bones, he thought, and then he _knew. _He saw the skulls atop the posts and wondered how he had failed to notice earlier. The skull's eyes cast a circle of light just beyond the fence. Jadwiga had gone back inside. There were no lights on anywhere that he could see in the house.

Not too far in the distance, a wolf howled and was answered. Scorpius gripped his basket and walked forward. Jadwiga had given him a charm and there was no hope of finding more monkshood before dark fell. He cast _lumos_ - the wolves would smell him anyway and there was no good stumbling in the dark.

Once more he was walking aimlessly and as the dread began to return to him, his feet turned to the east, seemingly without consent. It was as if he had stepped in faerie sod again, but this time - helpfully pointing him the right way instead of the wrong. Jadwiga's magic? He wondered, touching the collar.

The trees thinned out eventually and he could see lights far ahead. Hogwarts? Scorpius' heart leapt and he wanted nothing more than to run down the path and not stop running until he was in the dungeons and warm in his common room of green and silver. But no, mindful of the howls that followed at his heels, Scorpius walked calmly - trusting in little more than a necklace and his Father's smooth voice in his head.

_I love you Father_, he told the voice, because it seemed as though he could feel hot breath stirring the hairs on the back of his neck. But the attack he feared never came, not before a swift arrow found its mark, burying itself in the throat of a wolf just to his left. Scorpius hadn't seen the predator approaching, he'd been more preoccupied with the monster he thought was behind him.

Hoof beats sounded louder than the agonized and confused yelping of the werewolves and suddenly a great shape was between him and the pack.

The centaur turned his head to look at him, a passing glance to see if he'd been hurt. "Go, swiftly! I will keep them from following!"

_Now _was the time to run. And Scorpius, exhausted as he was, obeyed the urge. He launched himself down the small hill towards the lights of the castle and heard the centaur suddenly curse behind him. He knew one had slipped past and he still ran, unable to stop now if he'd wanted to. A hideous creature overtook him, skidding on the gravel just in front of him.

The werewolf was huge, silver fur down his spine and a dent in the skull that mashed his eye into a permanent slit. It looked as if he had been dealt a serious blow from a mallet, or a dropped cannonball. Scorpius had no time to think as the old werewolf lunged, he dropped to the ground. It's body flew over him, snarling in rage but quick to recover. Greyback whirled around, mouth open for the kill even as Scorpius was still struggling to his feet.

_"Impedimenta!" _hollered a voice that Scorpius was only too happy to hear. Fenrir's jaws were now barely inching toward him and the werewolf's body was twitching as he attempted to shake off the spell. Centaurs surrounded him soon enough, throwing a net of iron chains over Greyback and trussing him thoroughly, ignoring his futile growls.

Scorpius scrambled over to Professor Longbottom and seized him around the middle in a tight hug. "Oof! Easy there, Scorpius!" But Neville did not push the boy away, able to feel how badly he was trembling. "It's okay," he said, gently, and Scorpius swallowed a sob, still hiding his face. "You're safe. In a great deal of trouble I must admit, but safe."

"I'm sorry I got lost," the boy murmured and then pulled back just as quickly as he'd hugged his professor, wiping at his eyes. He held up the basket. "I . . . I got you some vervain. And rue, and mugwort. Couldn't find anything else."

Neville stared at him for a long moment. "Scorpius . . . You did _not _have to do that," he said quietly, not smiling. Scorpius' heart crashed. He'd thought Professor Longbottom would be so pleased and that it would all have been worth it. His misery must've been etched on his face, for Neville did smile then and put a hand on his head.

"You're worth more to me than some silly old plants, you understand that? You're one of my best students and if my garden had been reduced to nothing but _tonka beans_, I still wouldn't trade you for all the plant specimens in the entire bloody Forest. I will plant what you've brought me, but you are to leave excursions into the Forest to me from now on."

Scorpius dropped the basket. "You mustn't!" He burst out, clutching at the Herbology professor's robes. "There's werewolves and there's this witch living there with skulls and bones for a fence and birds nests in her hair and she's got a giant monster chicken living under her house! It's insane in there, please don't ever go!"

Neville just stared at him, bewildered. " . . . Giant monster chicken?" he repeated, in a way that gently suggested that Scorpius might have fallen over on top of a spotted mushroom with his mouth coincidentally open. "Are you, ah, certain?"

"Yes. Her name was Jadwiga. She gave me this." He touched the collar at his throat. Neville bent to peer at it.

"Devil's shoestring," he murmured, identifying the roots. "Bound with nine knots with white hair. That's ancient herb lore. She had _what _for a fence?"

Before Scorpius could say more, there was a loud screech from overhead and something crashed out from the canopy of the Forest to fly above them. Whatever it was, it was laughing madly and it appeared to be in a huge mortar with a pestle used as a rudder. Scorpius squinted and could make out a head of long white hair waving in the wind, capped by what looked like old piloting glasses.

"Believe me now?" Scorpius asked, following the witch's crazily looping patterns around the night sky.

"Ring around moon! There be rain soon!" she shrieked gleefully and then made a hairpin turn and zoomed back over their heads to the Forest. After a moment, Professor Longbottom blinked and then slowly rubbed his temples.

"It's been a long day," he said, "I'm not certain what either of us just saw, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt if you still care to talk about it over tea and chocolate." Scorpius' pointed face lit up almost immediately and Neville gave him a keen look. "And you're not getting out of detention, you know."

"That's okay, Professor. Really, that's okay." Scorpius, still looking a little pale and shaken, began to finger comb his hair back into presentable form. He was like his father in _some _ways at least.

Neville put a comforting hand on his shoulder, leading him to the castle. Scorpius was only too glad to put the hulking outline of the Forest, and all of its interesting inhabitants, behind him.

END


End file.
